


Play Back the Songs We Used to Know

by Armygirl0604, captain-trashmerica (Armygirl0604)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Military, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, College Student Stiles Stilinski, Dark Humor, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Endgame Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Engaged Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gallows Humor, Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski, Gratuitous terminal lance references, Green Weenie, Inaccurate portrayal of TBI, Inappropriate Humor, Infantry Humor, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, Laura Hale Lives, M/M, Marine Corps, Marine Derek Hale, Married Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Memory Loss, Military, Military Families, Military Jargon, Military Ranks, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Musician Stiles Stilinski, Nanny Stiles Stilinski, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Playlist, References to Letterkenny (TV), Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, Timelines, Women in the Military, boot memes, embarrassing amounts of mat best references, excessive use of spotify, military humor, no betas we die like men, terminal lance, well sort of, yes it can fuck you even here fellas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armygirl0604/pseuds/Armygirl0604, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armygirl0604/pseuds/captain-trashmerica
Summary: It's not every day you get clubbed in the head with 200 pounds of gear and forget you had a fiance.After a training accident in the field, Derek feels like he has to get to know his squad all over again. Two years is a big gap to lose. It doesn't help that it feels like something else is missing in his life, too, or maybesomeone.Then, of course, there's his sister Laura's new nanny, Stiles. Who is funny and smart, and keeps Derek from feeling like he's going to explode even though he has to relearn two years worth of his life all over again. Stiles, who is drop dead gorgeous, tempting as hell, and most definitelyengaged to someone else.





	1. Bitch I Operate (Acoustic) - mbest11x

**Author's Note:**

> As a Pre-Fic warning: There is content within this fic that involves explicit, dark, crass, inappropriate, and in-poor-taste/not PC humor. These characters talk and interact like everyday, average Marines. There are descriptions of combat, jokes related to people's personal identities, graphic depictions of gore and/or violence. As stated in the tags: This is a Marine Corps AU fic. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat applies.  
Beyond that, this story contains military jargon, a regularly updating glossary in the notes will accompany. There is also a Spotify playlist, which has all of the songs from the chapters, including upcoming chapters, which can be found [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CAZycqjOHnWjE9teaQZcQ?si=WByZRToUTCqWUSzfE3qBIg)

Derek wakes to an incessant beeping on his right and incessant tapping on his left. Light and sound rush back in and all of it is annoying. Just when he thinks it can't get any worse, he realizes someone is singing along with the rhythmic tapping. "Hm, hm-hm, three words are for your face...bitch, I operate." And then, like that wasn't bad enough, the tapping is suddenly replaced by guitar strumming.  
  
He forces his eyes open, blinking against the flourescent lights above him, and looks around. Through the open door he sees a sea of blue figures rushing back and forth, and on the wall to his right is a poster sponsered by the Department of Defense about the dangers of STDs. Definitely Naval. He groans and shuts his eyes again. Shit.  
The strumming stops immediately. "Derek? Can you hear me?"  
  
Even though he'd rather keep his eyes squeezed shut and pretend this isn't happening, Derek looks to his right and scowls at Scott. "I'm calling S-4," he says. Croaks, more like. His voice sounds terrible.  
  
Scott's eyebrows furrow and his face scrunches up like a confused puppy. "Uh, what? Derek? Er...Sergeant Hale? Do you...know who I am?"  
  
Derek bites back his smirk. "All these corpsman out there and they gave me your ugly mug as a nurse. I want to see if I can call in a replacement."  
  
Scott's face breaks out into a wide grin. "Oh, man, dude. You had me going! I thought maybe you had amnesia or something!"  
  
"Your name is Beatrice, right?" Derek asks flatly.  
  
Scott just laughs and asks, "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like I got hit by a truck." Derek leans his head back against the pillow and shuts his eyes. "What's it take to get some water around here?" Scott helps him sip from the little plastic cup beside the bed. "So did you just come to watch me get my beauty sleep or is the squad lurking around some corner waiting to ambush me mariachi style?"  
  
"Oh! No, they were all here during chow. They went back for formation. I stayed to babysit because Laura had to go pick up Lia from daycare. Stiles just went to get some coffee." Scott refills the cup and offers it but Derek shakes his head. Scott puts it back on the little table and stands up. "Everyone's been really worried about you, man. I'm glad you're okay."  
  
"Sounds good," Derek said. "I'm sure Laura's been freaking out."  
  
"I'll text her," Scott says. "Let her know you're okay. I should call Stiles, too. Doc wasn't sure when you'd wake up; I bet everyone will be really pissed they weren't here."  
  
"Stiles," Derek says, testing out the unfamiliar name. "That the Corpsman, then?" 

I'm not saying this is what happened just minutes after Derek's injury. All I'm saying is, has he tried ibuprofen and changing his socks?

(For all you docs out there, keep doing what you're doing. I'd literally be dead if it weren't for our Corpsman on our last field op lmao)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for any readers who already understand the Marine jargon: Some things have been Weirdly Capitalized or overly simplified for the average reader who Does Not Really Care What the Fuck We Are Talking About. Yes, I am aware. Please don't act like a boot in my comments. Also, since Beacon Hills isn't a real fuckin place, and I know too many people in too many units to get caught talking shit about any of our rivals, this is a made up base with made up units. Let's pretend that these either exist or didn't get deactivated at one time or another, and all of them magically exist in BH. Shhhhhhh it's like the green weenie, just relax and let it happen.


	2. Sinner - Andy Grammer, Don't Touch My Guns - mbest11x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find Stiles's t-shirt [here.](https://www.spreadshirt.com/create-your-own?article=5b14f790f6c60d7e0302ed0a&product=1046583646&productType=347&appearance=2&view=1_2528&mode=edit%22)  
Also, a brief glossary:  
Boot: Can mean either new/inexperienced service member, likely fresh out of training (or, in some circles, someone who has never seen combat) or someone who is incredibly "moto" or embarrassing to their peers. Nowadays, a frowned-upon term by chains of command, but still used. Can be affectionate, derogatory, or just a term of address, all depending on tone of voice.  
  
Hit the fleet: Arriving at one's first permanent (non-training, ready for active service) duty station  
The Fleet: A magical place that trainees hear about, but don't believe is real, where you get to be a real person again and actually do your job.  
SOI: School of Infantry, where all Marines go to learn combat skills after finishing recruit training. There are technically two schools: MCT (Marine Combat Training) and ITB (Infantry Training Battallion). Generally, only POGs say MCT. Anyone who went through ITB, or has been in the fleet longer than a year or two, usually just says SOI.  
High Fade: a very short USMC style haircut  
Low Fade: a longer (Lower setting on clippers) USMC style haircut. It's a thing of pride among many males to see how low they can get their fade without getting called out.  
NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer. A Corporal or Sergeant. (Once you pick up [re: get promoted to a rank] Staff Sergeant, you become an SNCO or Staff NCO. Anything above the rank of Gunnery Sgt, or Gunny, is just considered a "higher up" aka "higher up in the chain of command than you.")

The bar is just starting to fill up when Scott comes tripping over his own feet from the door that leads to backstage. His eyes are wide and panicky as he scans the bar. Derek raises his hand from the massive hightop table housing not just their squad, but most of their platoon as well as several spouses and children. The two tables behind Derek are full of their people as well. But Scott doesn't pay them any mind; just blunders past, headed straight for the bar. Derek slides out of his seat and nudges Boyd with his elbow. Boyd obligingly scoots out of the way and Derek slides past him and crosses the floor to see what's wrong.

Scott's got his hands clasped together, pleading with a guy seated at the bar. Derek can't see the guy's face, but he's wearing a red and grey flannel and has too much hair to be one of them. Derek wonders if this is the "best friend" Scott had been telling them about all day long, the one that was coming to the gig. He gets closer until he can finally hear what Scott is saying. "-and I told him that gas station sushi was a bad idea, even in California, but he didn't listen and now he's puking everywhere and Ethan is freaking out which means Danny is freaking out and Jackson can't sing for shit and you know all our songs already will you please, _please_ just help me out here? I will do anything, Stiles, I will be your slave, please just help me my whole platoon is here _plus_ Allison so I need this to be really good."

The floppy-haired flannel-wearing guy waves his hands. "Scotty, calm down. It's cool, I'll totally step in. Just tell Aiden to stop eating weird shit before shows, already." He looks up like he can sense Derek and _whoa_. He turns and pins Derek with the brightest pair of amber eyes he's ever seen and flashes him an impish grin. "Wait, don't tell me. Growly looking, expressive eyebrows, murder in leather. You're Scotty's sergeant, right? Derek Hale?" He slides off the bar stool and sticks a hand out. "Stiles Stilinski, best friend extraordinaire. I've got to run and go help them out backstage, but I'd love to meet you all, later."

Derek just stares at him and then the guy is chugging the rest of his beer and sliding past. Derek turns his gaze on Scott instead. "Everything okay?"

Scott nods, still looking a bit frantic. "Yeah, everything is fine. It's just that we stopped at 7-11 on the way here for snacks and Aiden decided to get one of those trays of California rolls even though we _told_ him it was a bad idea and now he's heaving in the back room. Stiles, that's my friend who just left, he's going to take Aiden's place doing vocals. He goes to tons of our practices; he knows all our songs." Scott says this part proudly, bouncing a little on his heels. "So I should probably get back behind stage again. Is everyone here? Do you guys like the bar? Did uh..."

Derek bites back a laugh. "Argent is here. She's sitting with Erica and Boyd." He jerks his head at their table. Scott looks over immediately, and starts turning redder than a tomato. Derek looks over. The girl from the Scout Sniper platoon is smirking at them over a half-empty pint of stout, her cheeks slightly pink. Derek cuffs the younger Marine on the back of the head. "Go backstage, Scott," he says firmly. "I'll keep your little girlfriend entertained; she will be here when you're done. I promise."

Scott hurries past their table, although Derek sees him pause long enough to wave enthusiastically at the girl and all his friends. Derek rolls his eyes, but makes good on his promise. He flags down the bartender and gestures to where Scott's new obsession is sitting. "One of whatever she's got and a Maker's Mark, neat, thanks." He pays for the drinks and carries them back right as the band seems to be finishing setting up. He sets the pint of stout in front of Argent and takes his seat across from her again. "Glad to see you made it," he says.

Argent, and for the life of him, he can't remember her first name, gives a little half shrug. "Well, Scott asked me to come...Sergeant Hale, right?"

"Derek, actually," he says, and sticks his hand out for her to shake. "We don't use our indentured servitude names outside of work."

She gives a little laugh at that. "Allison, then. How long have you worked with Scott?" She drains the last of her first beer and picks up the second one, raising it to him in thanks. They clink glasses gently, careful not to spill.

Derek takes a sip of his whiskey. "Since he hit the fleet. He's one of my boots, actually. I picked him up straight from SOI and everything. How long have you been a Scout Sniper?"

"Only a couple of months," Allison says. She starts telling him about the training process, and about her admission to the program, when there's a sharp sound from the microphone that makes everybody wince.

Scott's lanky friend in the flannel is fiddling with the microphone stand, and everyone else looks just about set up. One of Derek's other new boots, Whittemore, is sitting behind a keyboard, and a kid who looks just like Carver is screwing around with a pair of drumsticks. Aiden himself is nowhere to be found. There's another guy, darker skinned with a high fade, who seems to be flirting with Carver's twin, although Derek can't hear what they're saying. The crowd starts to go quiet as the band settles.  
Scott leans into his microphone. "Hey, good evening everyone. I'm uh, I'm Scott McCall and this is The Wolf Pack. Our lead singer, Aiden, isn't feeling well, so we have a special guest tonight. Please welcome Stiles Stilinski, our guest singer."

There's a smattering of polite applause, eclipsed entirely by the thundering whoops and hollers coming from the tables filled with guys from their platoon. Wilson from 3rd squad cups his hands and shouts "_Booooooots!_" at the top of his lungs, followed closely by Evans from 1st squad shouting, "_Fuckin' boots!_" from the far end of their table.

Erica, Boyd's wife, cups her hands. "Show us your tits!" she shouts. Derek's always liked her. She has a good sense of humor, and she's smiling wickedly at the stage. The thundering gets louder for a second, adding wolf howls and whistles. Derek glances back to see that Scott's friend has raised his shirt slightly. Not all the way; he's doing a wriggling little dance like he's going to striptease for them. He drops his shirt after it reaches his bellybutton, grinning ear to ear when he grabs the microphone.

"That's all you're getting unless one of you buys me a drink first," he says. There's some good natured laughing and ribbing. Derek hears someone shout, "_I'll buy him a drink!_" He thinks it might be Greenburg. His suspicions are confirmed when he glances at the third table and sees Gunny Finstock smack Greenburg upside the head. "Anyways, your boy Aiden can't hold his gas station sushi down so I'm filling in for him." He holds up his hands when a few of them jeer. "I know, I know, but listen. Innocent civilian here, no hazing allowed. You can haze Carver on your own time. For now, these guys have worked really hard so shut up and take lots of videos to blackmail them with later." The lights dim and everyone falls silent again.

Derek sips his whiskey as the music starts. It has an old school Johnny Cash feel to it and Derek almost starts to think maybe they're a country band when it becomes abundantly clear that the song is a comedy song.

Scott's friend is surprisingly talented, although he looks too young for the words he's singing. Derek was well aware already that Aiden wrote most of their music, but there's something funny about this lanky kid who's probably never left this town in his life singing Aiden's songs. "_I've traveled the world a couple times. I've seen some shit and I've blurred some lines._" His voice is deep and crooney, which somehow surprises Derek. He doesn't look like he has the vocal chords to croon. In fact, if Derek didn't know that Scott went to high school with the guy, he might not even be sure the kid's balls had dropped. He looked _young_. But Stiles keeps up with the song just fine. "_I may be old and I may be mean, but my blood is red and my money's green so don't you dare...touch my guns._" There's a few cheers at that and Derek smiles into his drink. Aiden isn't exactly old, either. Mean, on the other hand...well, you don't get to be NCO in the infantry without being a bastard, Derek figures.

Stiles and Scott are both singing along with the bridge, which mostly just seems to be them repeating the words "_Don't touch my guns...I'll fuck you up_," over and over until the song ends. Derek signals the waitress to get him a refill. Quick on her feet, she sets it down just as they're starting their next song.

This sounds a lot more like what Derek had expected when Scott had eagerly invited everyone to come see their band play while Aiden had stared at the ceiling shaking his head tiredly. The act doesn't fool Derek. He remembers when the Carver twins hit the fleet, and Aiden was just as eager and motivated as Scott was. Hell, he was the same way just a few months ago. It's only been since he picked up Corporal that he's been trying to act tough.

This song is much more upbeat and Derek watches the way the atmosphere on the stage changes. They all start to loosen up, driven on by the enthusiasm of their coworkers.  
"_I've been throwing stones, waiting by the river. I've been on my own, praying like a sinner. You've been gone too long, I'm waiting out the winter. I've been on my knees, praying like, praying like a sinner..._" Scott's friend is in his element, clearly. He's bouncing on his feet along to the music as the song starts and when he starts singing, he taps his foot along with it. His whole body moves with the song, hands wrapped around the microphone like it's going to fly away if he doesn't hang onto it.

Derek doesn't think he's ever been entranced by live music before. Bands are just sort of there to be the background while he sits and chats with his squad. Now, he can't take his eyes away from the stage, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that two of his newer squad members are up there performing the songs written by someone he's known since he was a Lance Corporal.

It's also clear the kid can tell he's watching because as he rolls into the second verse, the kid catches his eye and winks at him before rocketing backwards and flailing into the chorus again. Derek finds it oddly charming; erotic even, the way the guy so obviously feels the music he's performing, even though he didn't write the songs. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a sip of water before he starts singing again. Derek realizes he shouldn't stand up from the table, because against anything he'd ever expected from tonight, he's half-hard in his seat. He swallows thickly, searches out his waitress, and orders another drink.

He's five drinks deep by the time the band rolls off stage. During the set, their waitress had rolled by with food menus and everyone has had plenty of appetizers and entrees to fill their stomachs and absorb some of the alcohol. Derek is only comfortably buzzed, and thankfully nowhere near drunk yet, when the band rolls up on the tables. Carver's brother and the bass player give a little wave to Scott as they walk past, fingers laced together, and make their way to a table across the room with its own fair share of Marines. The bass player drops his arm across Carver's twin's shoulders.

"Jackson is going to drive Aiden home," Scott announces as he comes up to the table. "I don't think he's coming back; he said something about a Tinder date. Danny and Ethan will come over in a little while; they have to say hi to their guys, first." His hand shoots out and he snatches his friend by the wrist on the way by and says, "This is Stiles," as he drags the guy back and pulls out one of the chairs they'd left for Aiden and Jackson for him.

Stiles slides into the seat as the few people paying attention say hello and snatches up a menu. "Holy shit, your sets are exhausting. You owe me a beer, Scotty. You owe me so many beers. I would do...probably anything for a beer and some curly fries right now. Anything. I would suck a dick right here, right now, for some freaking curly fries." He looks up from the menu as Derek chokes. "Yeah, I said it," he says. "Dick for curly fries, I'm totally okay with this exchange." Now that he's closer, Derek can see the tight, _tight_ black t-shirt that has the lyrics to the theme song of Firefly, as well as the fact that there are about _eight million colors_ in the guy's eyes.

Scott's attention is already elsewhere, as he's staring at Allison like she hung the moon and asking, "Did you like the set?" but Erica stands on the bar between the legs of her bar stool to give herself a boost and waves at their waitress like a madwoman. The girl seems to know Erica, because she just laughs and makes a weird hand gesture that Erica returns easily, then grabs her pad and pen and makes her way over.

"And you don't even need to suck my dick for that, sugar," Erica says.

Stiles is looking at her like she just told him he could have a million free puppies. "You are a goddess among women," he says, and he turns to the waitress and says, "Curly fries, a million of them. Do you have a million curly fries? I will give you all the money I have ever earned in my entire life for a million curly fries."

Their waitress laughs as Stiles rattles off the rest of his order in the same way. Derek turns to Boyd and tries to focus on literally anything else other than the guy's humor and distracting hands, which are still flailing everywhere even now, when he's off stage. They talk about what to do for PT on Monday; decide on a 3-mile run and circuit course, before Derek turns back to the conversation at hand.

Stiles has entranced half the table with some story about Scott from when they were teenagers. Derek missed the first part about why they were in a forest looking for a dead body, but tunes in for the part where they had to go back to find Scott's cell phone and got chased out of the woods by an old guy with a rifle who insisted the nature preserve was private property. The entire table is laughing, Allison included, and Scott is bright red. Then their drinks come and Stiles is too busy with his beer to keep distracting Derek.

Twenty minutes later, though, when the crowd is starting to thin as the married couples with babysitters at home start to head home and the tables start to separate as people gravitate towards their own groups of friends to keep drinking, Stiles turns his full attention on Derek. There's really nowhere else for it to go – Erica and Boyd stepped out with some of the group who went to smoke, Scott and Allison are talking animatedly at the bar, and most of the rest of their table has either disappeared outside, or vanished altogether. Evans is still sitting at the end, tapping away on his phone, but everyone else is gone.

Stiles is picking his way enthusiastically through an entire dinner plate full of curly fries. "So, Derek Hale," he says. "What did you really think of the set?"

"It was fine," Derek says.

Stiles leans forward, smirking. "Just fine?"

"It was _good_," Derek says firmly. "Do you sing a lot?"

Stiles wobbles his left hand back and forth, still shoveling curly fries into his mouth. It should be off-putting. Derek has never seen anything so charming in his life. "So-so," he says when he's swallowed. "I play a little guitar myself; Scott and I took the class together as an elective when we were in high school. We thought it would help us pick up chicks." Stiles rolls his eyes. "That and lacrosse. But Scott went the way of alternative and rock, mostly, and I sort of strayed a little more towards folk music. I play open mic nights at a coffee house every now and again."

"Are you any good?" Derek finds himself asking.

Stiles looks mock offended. "Was I any good up there?"

"Well I've heard you sing," Derek says, and he realizes he's flirting with the kid. "But just because your mouth can do something pretty doesn't mean you've got any talent in your fingers." He glances down at Stiles's hands and back up, his expression flat as a brick wall.

Stiles gapes for a few seconds while he processes. Then his whole face lights up. He gasps out a laugh, wiping tears from his eyes. "You..." he says, "you are funny, dude. I like you." He goes to take a sip of his beer and, realizing it's empty, frowns. "And I'll have you know," he adds as he looks around for their waitress, "that my fingers are very talented."

Derek sees her first and catches their waitress's attention as she walks by. "One for each of us," he says. "Put it on my tab."

Stiles grins at him. "Trying to get me shirtless?"

Derek shrugs, finishes off the last of his whiskey. "We'll see where the night goes."

  
  
  
  
  
For your entertainment, here's an image of boots doing boot things in a bar.  



	3. When It Comes to You - Dead Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
"The Bricks:" a common nickname for the barracks. As a sergeant, Derek would have his own room in most bricks unless they were seriously overcrowded.

Derek's had it up to here with doctors by the time Laura breezes in. Scott's been standing by the door fiddling with his hands for the past half an hour, looking like he both wanted to say something and was utterly terrified to speak. "And what's the last thing you remember?" the doctor asks for the third time.

Derek tries not to look too pissed off. Captain Williams seems like a nice enough guy, and he's obviously just trying to help. "Lyft driving. It was Friday; Gunny Finstock came out of his office and gave the safety brief, we got dismissed. Scott hung around and asked _again_ if I was coming to his gig on Saturday. I gave him a lift back to the bricks. Then I went to the gym with Parrish and Carver, showered, ate at the chow hall, then left to go Lyft drive for a while. I must have gone back to the bricks and gone to sleep afterwards. Unless...I didn't? Is all of this you guys trying to tell me I got into a car crash or...?" Derek is starting to feel a little frantic.

"Sergeant Hale, I'm not really sure how to put this," Captain Williams says. "But there was an accident, out in the field. We're concerned you may have some...gaps...in your memory."

"Gaps," Derek says. "What do you mean by gaps?"

Laura clears her throat and moves in from where she's been standing by the door. "That gig, Derek," she says. "Was it Scott's.._first_ gig you'd ever gone to?"

Derek nods. "Yeah I...why?" he asks. His stomach starts to sink.

"Derek," Laura says and her voice is so _soft_. Derek feels his stomach drop the rest of the way and thinks he might throw up. Because Laura's voice is soft like _Mom and Dad...they were in the house_ while she's standing there in all those flashing police lights and clutching onto Cora's shoulder. Soft like _Derek, Uncle Peter passed away last night._ Soft like _Derek, please come over. There are two men in uniform at the door and I don't think I can open it by myself._ Soft the way she's told him every bad piece of news they've ever gotten in their lives. "Derek," she says again. "That was two years ago."

After he has time to process – after the CT scan and the millions of other questions, after he's had Gunny Finstock, his Company First Sergeant, and even the Battalion Commander come through his room to ask him the _same_ questions and "see how he's doing," Derek asks, "So what happens now?"

Captain Williams is looking over Derek's chart. "I'm not sure how much else there is we can do for you," he says. He puts the clip board down and looks Derek in the eye. "I'll have to wait to get the results of your scans. Depending on the level of damage, we'll either keep you here to see what can be done or...release you to your sister's care." He purses his lips. "Sergeant Hale, I think you should be made aware now. I've never seen someone lose quite this big a gap of time. You may have some trouble in the future forming new memories, or have problems with your short term memory. And I...I can't say for certain whether what you lost will ever come back."

Derek nods slowly. Two years ago, Lia was only 8 months old. She was just starting to pull herself up with the furniture in Laura's living room. Derek might never remember her first steps, or her first word. He might never remember seeing her get her first tooth. Hell, he might not be able to do his _job_ anymore. Laura had stepped out to give him some space; it's only him and Captain Williams in the room. But suddenly it feels like the room is too small. Derek sucks in a tight breath. "Can I...Can I have a minute? I just..."

"Of course." Captain Williams picks up the clip board and pulls the curtain around Derek's bed shut. "I'll just go check on your scan results. I'll be back in five minutes."

Derek waits until he hears the door click shut, then buries his face in his palms. He takes a deep breath and holds it in as long as he can before slowly releasing, in an attempt to stave off the panic. He goes through this motion three more times before he gets his breathing under control.

It's as he's taking that fourth breath that Derek hears the door snick open and shut quietly again. "Laura, I-"

"Not Laura," a voice says. It's not Scott, either. Derek looks up as the curtain shifts and there's a young guy in a red hoodie slipping into his space. He's pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and honey brown hair that's plastered to his forehead. He looks like he doesn't sleep much, or hasn't slept lately, maybe. He looks the way Derek feels after coming off a 24-hour duty post and then going to work for the whole day afterwards. He's also got the most brilliant amber eyes Derek has ever seen in his entire life.

"Can I help you?" Derek asks slowly. Then he sees what the guy is carrying in his arms. "Is that-"

The guy settles Lia, much bigger than Derek remembers, on the hospital bed. Immediately, Lia takes her fist out of her mouth and crawls up Derek's knees to pull herself up and stand on his hip. She pats his cheek with her damp, chubby fingers. "Der!" she chirps, tapping his face.

Derek feels like, for just a second, all the bad news is slipping away. Because his sister's daughter...this beautiful girl whose first steps he can't even remember, is the most amazing creature he's ever seen. "Hi Lia," he coos, and he draws up his left hand to hold Lia in place, mindful of the IV still taped to his right. "Hey, beautiful girl."

She presses her face to his cheek, open wet mouth smacking him in a toddler's approximation of a kiss. "Der okay?" she asks.

Without warning, tears well up in his eyes. "Yeah," he says wetly. "Yeah, everything is okay, Li-Li. Uncle Derek is gonna be just fine." He tugs her to the right and she obligingly plops her tiny, pink paisley covered butt into his lap. Derek fiddles with the lacy hem of her long-sleeved yellow dress and looks at the man who brought her in. "Hi, by the way," he says. "I'm uh, I'm Derek. But I guess...you probably know that. Since you brought my sister's kid in to see me and all."

"Actually, I had no idea you were related to Laura," the guy says. "I just like to bring her kid to see random guys in hospitals. To liven things up, you know."

Derek nods as if he believes this. "Yeah, and how has that been working out for you?"

He breaks out into a grin. "Oh, it's just great," he says. "Kid loves it. We're learning about venereal diseases. This hospital does have Marines, after all."

Derek chuckles. Despite everything terrible that's going on, this charming guy he's never even met has him _laughing._ "I'm sure my sister loves that."

"It's the only reason she hands me her kid."

Lia wriggles in Derek's lap and he shifts her far, _far_ away from the very tender space where they removed a catheter earlier. "You never told me your name, you know," he says.

The guy hesitates for half a second. Then he's smiling again. "I'm Stiles," he says. "I'd shake your hand, but you've sort of got precious cargo in your lap and needles in the other hand."

"Well, that and you just took her on a tour of venereal diseases," Derek says.

"Oh, that too," Stiles, apparently, says. "Definitely got all up close and personal with all of that right before coming into your room, just so I could make your already crappy day even worse." He pauses for a second, then looks at Derek seriously. "And hey, this...I can't imagine what this is like for you. So any time you need me to clear everyone out of here and hand over Lia so you can decompress, I am more than happy to do so. Just say the word. Or say no words, we could have a hand signal instead." He holds up three fingers and taps them to his forehead. "If you tap like this, I know to throw everyone out of your room and hand over the baby. Got it?"

"Got it," Derek says, right as the door swings open.

"Sergeant Hale, I've got your-oh," Captain Williams says. "Mr. Stilinski. I told-"

"Just getting him reacquainted with his niece, boss," Stiles says. He winks at Derek. "She's an expert on traumatic brain injuries, you know. Right Li?"

"Steth!" Lia cries, waving her hand at the captain's stethoscope.

Captain Williams takes the stethoscope from around his neck and says, "Would you like to help me check your uncle's heart, Lia?" He puts the stethoscope on her and helps her put it to Derek's chest for a moment before taking it back and straightening. "Very good job, Lia. Now if you could go with Mr. Stilinski back out to your mother, there are some more things I'd like to discuss with your uncle."

Stiles scoops up Lia and says, "See ya, Doc. And remember, Derek." He taps three fingers against his forehead again, very seriously. "Just give the signal and I am _on it_, man.

And then he and Lia are gone, out into the bustle of the hallway, leaving Derek alone with Captain Williams and his results.

Derek takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, doc. Tell me what's going on inside my skull."

I don't have anything for this one so here's a summary of what it's like to work in my job. Yes, almost this exact same thing has actually happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these chapters have more than one song. You can check for accompanying songs in the title.


	4. Them Dirty Bones - Mike Waters, Never Come Back Again - Austin Plaine

Derek finds a seat off to the left of the little stage area and settles into the cozy armchair to wait. The stage itself is just an empty part of the floor where the staff of the coffee shop have pushed some tables out of the way and taped Christmas lights to the floor in a rough box shape. There's a chair in the back corner of the box, against the wall, in case the performer wants to sit down, and two microphones in stands. Other than that, it's just a square of floor-space lined in Christmas lights in front of a brick wall with a massive canvas painting of a woman with rainbow hair and bright pink heart shaped sunglasses.

The coffeehouse is much quieter than the bar had been. The tables are almost all occupied, but never by more than three or four people. Everyone is speaking quietly, bent over steaming mugs and murmuring about...whatever people who go to places like this talk about. There's a laptop or open book on almost every table, and several people with notebooks and fancy fountain pens. Derek spots at least ten different models of photography camera hanging from straps around various necks. He's just considering counting how many different colors of beanies he can find when a tangle of limbs slides into the seat across from him. "Hey, you made it!" Stiles sounds happy.

Derek looks over at him and sucks in a tight breath. Stiles has on yet another flannel, this one [dark blue and orange](https://www.express.com/clothing/men/plaid-flannel-shirt/pro/01760196/color/Obsession%20Blue/e/regular/?rx_channel=search&channel=search&merchantId=41548191&programId=103493618&affiliateId=101184100&&mrkgcl=638&mrkgadid=3334451943&CID=SEM_Goo-PLA-M-Qualified-Retail-20-176-Casual_Shirts-US-Product-NA&SearchID=Goo-PLA-M-Qualified-Retail-20-176-Casual_Shirts-US-Product-NA&product_id=16469242&adpos=1o19&creative=340384942268&device=c&matchtype=&network=g&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI5PLm7teu5QIViYCfCh1IUA-uEAkYEyABEgIjvfD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds) with another unreasonably tight graphic t-shirt. This one has a Starbucks logo with the lady from the center replaced by Vader, and advertises "Darth Roast Coffee." He's got a _beanie_ on. This is ridiculous. Derek is going to die. "Well I heard there might be some decent live entertainment," he says dryly to cover his moment of awe. "But if it sucks, I'm totally demanding a refund."

Stiles narrows his eyes at him playfully. "Just for that, I'm not getting you a coffee." Derek raises his mug in mock salute. Stiles looks aghast. "And you ordered without me," he says. "Shameful. Shame on you." He stands up. "Watch my guitar?"

"No," Derek says.

Stiles grins at him. "If you watch close enough, it might even do a trick." He saunters off to the counter across the room. Derek watches his hips as he goes, then resolutely takes a sip of his coffee. For fuck's sake, they haven't even been on a real date yet.

Stiles comes back with something Derek can only describe as obscene.Piled high with whipped cream, it has chocolate and caramel dripping down the sides onto the plate the mug rests on, and two different kinds of biscotti sticking out of the top. Derek stares at it. "What...is that."

"Double espresso with mocha, caramel, and toffee syrups with whipped cream, caramel and chocolate drizzles, cinnamon sprinkles, and an almond biscotti. Oh! And a dark chocolate cherry biscotti, because Candice at the counter loves me." He pulls the darker biscotti out of the coffee, sucks the whipped cream off in a way that goes straight to Derek's groin, and then takes a casual bite out of it, his eyes trained on the crowd like he doesn't even _notice_ what he's doing to Derek. Stiles looks over, catches Derek's eye, and _winks_. The fucker. "So tell me," Stiles says. "Is this your first time in a coffeehouse?"

"I've been to a Panera before, if that's what you're asking," Derek says.

Stiles claps the hand that isn't holding biscotti over his heart and gasps. "Derek Hale, you take that back. Panera is not a coffeehouse. It is overpriced hospital food and bad lattes. It is the McDonald's of coffee and sandwich eateries." He narrows his eyes and waves the biscotti at Derek. "We do not speak of the bad place under any circumstances."

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes at him. "Then no, I guess you could say this is my first time in a coffeehouse."

Stiles claps his hands together. "Excellent. I love a good cherry-popping. So, this is The Raven and the Pen. It's owned by Candice and Lonnie, they're both behind the counter right now but Lonnie always emcees the open mics; she's great. They've been married for like a billion years and if you spend enough time cozying up to them like I have, you get free biscotti." Stiles grins. "No, but. I worked here during the summers while I was in my undergrad program and now that I'm home, I do all my work for my Masters here. Candice keeps me fed and caffeinated, and Lonnie is a dictator who doesn't let me slack off."

"Masters?" Derek raises his eyebrows. "I thought you were the same age as Scott."

"Oh, I am," Stiles says. "Yeah, no, I just turned 22 a couple weeks ago. Right before we met, actually. I was dual enrolled in college for my junior and senior years of high school, and I completed my Bachelors in Criminal Justice last spring. I'm currently slowly hacking my way through a Masters in Advanced Counter-terrorism, hence the constant supply of caffeine here at R and P." He waves a hand, like it's no big deal that he's barely twenty-two and already a year into his Master's degree. "What about you? Any college?"

"A couple classes," Derek says. "My Joint Service Transcript gives me a few credits, too. I'd like to keep working on my bachelors, before I get out."

"What do you want to major in?" Stiles leans forward, elbow dangerously close to dipping into his whipped cream. "Are you planning to stay in? Or are you going to get out and go to a university?"

"History," Derek says, "and no, I'm hoping to stay in, actually. But I've been taking classes through UMUC when I have time, and I figure I'll get there as long as I keep working at it."

Stiles launches into a dozen more questions about what his online course-load is like, and before Derek knows it, there's someone on the little stage reading poetry. Stiles drops his voice down to a whisper and moves his guitar out of the chair between his and Derek's. He slides around the little circular table, settling into the chair right next to Derek, and leans his head close so they can murmur about college, just like everyone else in the room. Derek's coffee warms his hands, and Stiles's arm pressed against his warms everything else.

They idly watch a few of the performers. There's a pair of girls who play ukulele and guitar together and sing Jason Mraz covers, and an ambiguous person wearing Avengers leggings who reads a poem about gender identity. There are a few love poems, a violinist, and a guy whose art seems to be some sort of combination of him playing the recorder and then reading several lines of aggressive sounding poetry out of his notebook. Derek and Stiles exchange raised eyebrows at that one. After that act, Lonnie, the older woman with blue streaks in her hair, says, "Next up is one of Candice's and my adopted ducklings, Stiles Stilinski." There's a light smattering of polite applause as Stiles grabs his guitar. "Stiles has been coming here since before he could walk. I remember sitting with his mother having tea and watching him practice some of his first steps toddling around our little cafe." She presses a hand to her heart.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flaming, and Derek grins at him. Stiles flips him off and makes his way up to the front of the room. He drags the chair up and lowers the microphone so he can use it sitting, then settles down in the wooden chair and flips open the snaps on his guitar case. He pulls out an acoustic guitar made of light red wood and spends a moment double checking the tuning before leaning into the mic. "So, now that Lonnie's given you all my entire life story," there are a few chuckles at that, "I'm just going to play a couple songs and hope you all forget all that nonsense so I'm not too horribly embarrassed." He glances over at Derek, who just keeps smirking at him. "Also, that guy at that table on my left where I was sitting compared this place to Panera earlier, so you should totally give that your attention instead."

Derek gives him the finger.

Stiles pulls a pick out of his pocket and starts strumming. "_Here I go. I'm not shaky, but I'm weak in the knees..._" Stiles isn't flailing about here, the way he did on stage with Scott and Jackson. He's quiet and mellow, the guitar settled on his knee and his foot only lightly tapping the rhythm to keep from jostling his guitar. Despite the lack of performative motion, Derek watches him just as intently as he had the first night. Stiles catches his gaze more than once, a smile tugging at his lips each time. "_I've made a lot of stupid mistakes. But hey, at least I did it my way. And I've made friends with arms wide open; I've been broke and I've been broken. I've found love and all that goes with it. I don't know how but I did. I've been happy, I've been hurting. I'll stay settled here I'm certain. Find my stride before I'm thirty. This is where my bones get, bones get dirty._"

When he's done with his first song, Stiles drops a notebook at his feet and says, "Bear with me on this one. It's new." He tucks his pick back into his pocket and starts plucking at the strings with his fingers. "_I wanna see the world,_" he croons. "_I wanna sail the ocean. I wanna know what it feels like to never come back again._" Derek sits in rapt attention, watching Stiles finger pick at the strings of his guitar. "_I wanna feel the waves crashing down on heartache. I wanna find the key to the sky and never come back again._" Derek slides his phone out of his pocket and opens the camera, pressing record with his thumb as he watches Stiles over the top of the screen. Stiles sees the phone right away the next time he looks at Derek and for a second, his fingers fumble on the strings. He keeps going though, cheeks pinking. "_I wanna find my love, lose myself in passion..._" This time, he keeps looking at Derek.

Derek holds the guitar case in his hand while Stiles fumbles with the keys to a faded blue jeep. "Come on, Roscoe," Stiles argues with the hunk of metal, jiggling the key. The lock pops open and he pulls the door open. Derek hands him the guitar case and he tucks it into his passenger seat. "Keep an eye on Starla, Ros," he says, and shuts the door again, locking it back up. He turns to Derek. "Thanks for the help."

"Do you name all your inanimate objects?" Derek asks. "Are your keys named Jeremy?"

"Octavia, actually," Stiles shoots back. He shrugs. "The Jeep was my mom's...so was Starla, actually."

"Oh," Derek says. He hesitates. "If you don't mind-"

"What happened to her?" Stiles interrupts. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the side of Roscoe. "Frontotemporal dementia," he says. "When I was nine."

"I'm sorry," Derek says. "I...I know how you feel." He swallows. "My family died in a house fire when I was a teenager. My older sister Laura and I had taken my younger sister Cora to the park. There was a gas leak. My mom...she loved incense and candles and all that nice smelling stuff. We figure she went to light one of her candles and..." He stops. "My uncle, Peter, he was on the front porch. He missed the worst of the blast. But he never really healed...he died in hospice a few years ago."

Stiles straightens up. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks suddenly.

Derek blinks. "What?"

Stiles holds out his hand. He's got soft grey gloves on to combat the February chill. "I want to show you something."

Derek takes his hand.

They walk through the darkened streets, with only the glow of streetlamps to keep them company. There are a few bars open, but a lot of this neighborhood is art galleries and shops and houses, and most of it is closed at this time of night. Stiles chatters as they walk. "When I was a teenager, a lot of this was just starting to grow. There was incentive to re-purpose the old train depot and turn it into something useful. The community came together and turned it into a center for the arts. They offer low cost classes in things like painting and glass blowing, so low income students can learn the skills they need for their art. A lot of it is community funded." He goes on for a while about the history of the depot and the growing gentrification of the neighborhood, and how everything here used to be abandoned and what the difference between gentrifying an abandoned warehouse district was from the gentrification of low-income areas and how raising real estate prices in low-income communities was lowering the standard of living for citizens there and which politicians were making motions for hostile architecture. Derek just listened and nodded in the right places.

"...and then of course there's the whole thing with the spikes on branches of trees to keep birds from perching there, and they just keep pulling them off because birds are smarter than that-" Stiles stops suddenly. "And I'm totally rambling, aren't I?"

"Well, yeah," Derek says. "But I like listening. I'm not much of a talker, so by all means, ramble away."

Stiles's face splits into a surprised grin, like he's pleased, and he squeezes Derek's hand. "We're here, actually." He opens a little black wrought-iron gate and leads Derek into a small paved quad filled with sculptures, trees, and rows and rows of garden boxes filled with plants. "It's called a pocket park," he says. "All of these plants flower in the spring, when it warms up. He runs his free hand over a bush. "This one is lavender. Those over there are gardenias." He spends a minute pointing out each of the different plants by name, still leading Derek past sculptures and benches toward the center. "And then there's this," he says.

At the center of the park, on its own grassy knoll, is a single tree and a bronze statue. The statue depicts a young woman reaching up with one hand toward the stars, her face tilted to the sky. Her other hand is anchored to the ground by a vine that wraps around the base of the sculpture and disappears into the plaque, as if the vine is keeping her attached to the earth like a lifeline. "Mountain ash," Stiles says. "Otherwise known as a rowan tree. My mom's favorite." He gestures to the plaque.

**The Claudia Stilinski Foundation Memorial Park  
** **This statue is dedicated to the memory of Claudia Stilinski, and to all the families affected by Frontotemporal Dementia and Alzheimer's Disease.**  
**"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too dearly to be fearful of the night." - The Old Astronomer to His Pupil, Sarah Williams**

"It was my mom's favorite poem," Stiles whispers. "When she died, my dad used some of her insurance money to start the foundation. The city donated the park. My mom was always super active in local politics. She wanted kids to have art, books, food on the table...she was really interested in taking care of the community at the ground level. She had a lot of friends on a lot of boards. Everyone loved her." Stiles leans over the little gate surrounding the tree and the statue and touches his mother's outstretched hand. "One of her friends was a sculptor. She donated the statue. She teaches at the old train depot now." Stiles swiped at his eyes. "Anyways, my point is even if terrible things happen, people aren't really gone. The people they left behind keep loving them." He gestures around to the flower garden. "They build whole gardens to keep them alive."

And Derek...Derek really fucking wants to kiss him. He's never wanted to kiss someone more in his entire life. But sure as shit, his first kiss with Stiles Stilinski is not going to be at almost eleven o'clock at night in a cold, dark city park in front of a statue of his dead mom. Instead, Derek takes Stiles's hand again. "Thank you for showing me," he says.

They start to walk back toward the coffeehouse. "So...you were saying about hostile architecture and birds?" Derek asks, and Stiles launches into it again.

There aren't really coffeehouses near bases. Of if there are, they're usually at least an hour and a half away. This is more what it's like to be the "artsy" type in the Corps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Claudia's statue's poem can be found [here](https://www.naic.edu/~gibson/poems/swilliams1.html).


	5. Sober Up - AJR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I've had a really bad freaking day, let me tell you. Spousal Unit is in Oki until shortly after Christmas so I'm doing everything on own and the backyard became last priority so I caught a snake in my tomatoes today which scared the piss out of my cat who clawed the shit out of me. My HBSS course ran late because my SQL server lost DHCP connectivity and we spent two hours troubleshooting it to eventually just restart my entire ePO server and turn off IPS and magically it worked. So I got home late, had to get my dress blues done for the ball and I haven't worn them in a long ass time and I've lost a ton of weight (medical reasons, I'm healthy again finally) so I had to get everything taken in and it ended up costing me $90 in alterations alone, not to mention my chevrons were looking kind of crappy so I had to get new ones put on. Then I got home and my toilet was leaking so there was water everywhere in the guest bath/hallway. Once I finally started to make dinner, I was 90% done and went to add milk and apparently my fridge crapped out entirely and my brand new gallon of milk had started to separate so my dinner was ruined and I'm too tired to make something new so instead I ate a cookie and drank some now lukewarm hard cider that was in my fridge and I'm just going to cry and write for a bit. Not to mention my dog's flea medicine has stopped working so I have to go pick up some flea shampoo tomorrow. And anyways, the point is your comments warmed my heart and made my shitty day marginally better so thank you. Oorah fucking Marine Corps fml let's do this shit.  
Glossary:  
Chow Hall: Cafeteria/Dining Facility  
Op: Operation/Exercise. Can be anything from a field-op (field exercise) to a deployment.  
Comms: Communications. Most Comms Marines are one of three categories: Data (servers, IT), Networking (network administration, LAN), or Radio. Radio Marines frequently get attached to infantry units, whereas the other two will go to a Comms shop attached to a unit, or will go to one of the Communications Battalions. Their job in the field is to set up a network using "stacks", which is large amounts of tactical servers ("green gear") and run Cat 5 and Fiber Optic cables between sets of 305 tents to build a tactical field office for communications to be run from. Nothing else can really get done until comms "go up" (a connection is established), so the Comms Marines spend the first day or two either not sleeping or sleeping very little while they get everything up and running, because almost everything else has to wait on them. (And Comms, of course, have to wait on Transmissions (Trans) to get satellite connections up, and on engineers to get electricity set up. The Marine Corps is a waiting game without ending.)  
PX: Also known as the MCX, the PX is a privately owned and run shop that only exists on base. It's tax-free and sells everything from uniform items to TVs, as well furniture, clothes, snacks, and alcohol. Nearby, usually, is the commisary (grocery store), and either in-between them or inside one is usually a food court with a few fast food options. There are also smaller PXs at all the on-base gas stations, which are literally just regular gas station convenience stores, but owned by the MCX. And, of course, they also sell uniform items and liquor.  
Tornadoes: Not a PX thing, but for those of you who haven't had them, they're like weirdly massive taquitos stuffed with filling and heated up on one of those spinning hotdog heaters in gas stations. 7-11 has a large selection (I reccomend either the Buffalo Chicken or the French Toast)  
Rip-Its: Also available in stores everywhere. 99 cent energy drink. Do not consume, it is POISON and will KILL YOU. It is also the Number One Staple Drink of Marines everywhere.  
Tear Down: Tearing down a site at the end of an op  
Field Day: Once a week, Marines conduct what is known as "Field Day", in which they clean their rooms and the common areas of the barracks from top to bottom. Field Day can be as simple or as extreme as one's NCOs allow. Some NCOs like to white-glove it and the unfortunate souls under their charge go through massive amounts of q-tips cleaning everything from the insides of air vents to the cracks in the walls. Other NCOs walk into the room, steal one of your beers, and say "looks clean" and walk right back out without so much as opening your bathroom. It all depends on the leadership. No matter which way you go though, field day is a constant if you live in the bricks. (When I lived in the bricks, I once had a sergeant give me a "hit" (mark me off) on having a flower in the arrangement on my dresser be slightly wilted. The same guy also hit me on my roommate's hair brush having a few hairs in it...good times, guys.)

By dinner time, Derek's room is full again. His whole squad, which now seems to include a scrawny blond in a scarf named Lahey and is missing Corporal Parrish, has piled into the room with bags of Wendy's and boxes from the chow hall. It doesn't seem to bother anyone that there are only two chairs. Jackson is in one, eating a chicken salad, of all things, and Boyd is sprawled in the other one with Erica on his lap. Scott has plopped down on the floor and Aiden is leaning against the wall with a guy who must be his identical twin. Derek hasn't met him yet, as far as he remembers. For him, Aiden was just telling him yesterday that the second Carver twin was finally back from an op in Norway, and that he'd be on stage at their gig if Derek wanted to meet him. Ethan, as Aiden had introduced him, is eerily similar looking, but Derek can see on site that they have slightly different facial shapes, especially around the jawline. Aiden is also just an inch or two taller than his brother. It should probably be weird, seeing them next to each other, but Derek doesn't really have time to process it with Scott chattering away like he can forcibly catch Derek up on two years worth of gossip all at once.  
He's even got his phone out, pulling up pictures and videos as evidence. "And this is all of us at Parrish's going away," he says. "Jackson and I wrote him a song. You took a video but I don't have a copy. That was like, three phones ago for me." He winces. "Kira says I break phones more than anyone she's ever seen."

"Kira?" Derek asks.

Scott perks up instantly. "Oh yeah! You haven't met Kira yet! She's an engineer and she's _amazing_. She was setting up generators for the comms guys and I started helping out because, you know, the sooner it gets done maybe the sooner we get to go home and all, just like you say." Scott is sort of...bouncing. Like a puppy. "And she's really strong!

She was carrying the turtles-you know, the portable generators-"

"I know what a turtle is, Scott," Derek says tiredly. He pushes at the food on his tray. One of the Corpsman on shift had dropped it off, and it's little better than a hot tray from the chow hall. The same limp, overcooked broccoli and greens mix that Lahey has in his tray, and a relatively bland, dry chicken breast sitting on a puddle of egg noodles smothered in fettuccine that are somehow both wet and very stiff.

"Right, yeah," Scott says easily, carrying on. He's picking at a gooey looking pile of orange chicken on brown rice. It doesn't exactly smell appetizing either, but it still at least looks more edible than what Derek had gotten. He considers handing Scott his wallet and sending him on a Wendy's run. Or maybe to the PX. He doesn't usually eat Tornadoes, but even a buffalo chicken Tornado and a Gatorade would be better than this. He wonders briefly if he can get away with sending Scott to get him a Rip-It, but Captain Williams had said no caffeine and Scott's not exactly a rebel.

Derek sighs. Scott is still talking. "And my cammies were covered in mud for the rest of the week, but that would have happened anyways so I didn't even mind. And at the end of the op I found her again and helped her with tear down and she wrote her number on my arm even though it was really gross and I still had swamp all over me," he's saying.

"And the armory took forever that night so we didn't even finish turning in rifles until after 21, but she let me take her to see a movie the next day. We got sushi after and I ate a ton of wasabi because I thought it was guacamole but she thought it was really funny and we've been together ever since." Scott finishes this with a bite of his orange chicken. He winces. Maybe not an improvement from Derek's hockey puck chicken breast and half-cooked noodles after all.

"What happened to Argent?" Derek asks. He tries a bite of the stewed greens. It's as awful as expected.

"Allison's good," Scott chirps. "We broke up after like three months. She's married now! Her wife is really pretty. She's a doctor."

"McCall, quit bothering him and give everyone else a turn." Derek turns to where Jackson is running his mouth. He's putting his empty salad container back in the bag. "No one here cares about your love life, trust me." He leans over and hands Derek his phone. It's slimmer than Derek remembers phones being, but it doesn't seem like too much else has changed. "Here," Jackson says. "This is a video we took on the [seven ton.](https://www.alamy.com/us-marine-corps-lance-cpl-bobby-mathews-with-combat-logistics-battalion-251-2nd-marine-logistics-group-guides-a-medium-tactical-vehicle-replacement-7-ton-truck-as-part-of-a-reception-staging-onward-movement-and-integration-drill-during-a-mission-rehearsal-exercise-on-landing-zone-woodpecker-camp-lejeune-nc-aug-9-2018-clb-251-conducted-the-rsoi-drill-in-order-to-improve-mission-capability-and-warfighting-readiness-in-ship-to-shore-logistical-operations-that-will-be-implemented-in-the-nato-led-exercise-trident-juncture-18-later-this-year-trident-juncture-18-is-part-of-a-planned-image218539007.html)" Derek presses play.

The video is jerky, bouncing along with whoever's holding the camera. There's the familiar roar of the seven ton and Derek sees a mix of familiar faces and strangers sitting on the benches, all their gear piled on the floor between them. Someone at the far end has a speaker out and most of the people in the video are singing along, loud and off key. "_Won't you help me sober up? Growing up, it made me numb and I wanna feel something again. Won't you help me sober? All the big kids, they got drunk and I wanna feel something again. Won't you help me feel something again? How's it go again?_" The video pans over all their faces. Scott is hanging onto the barrel of his rifle with one hand, but sends the camera a thumbs up with the other. He says something Derek can't quite make out over the din that might be Hi guys! Jackson has his arm around the new kid, Lahey's, neck and they're rocking enthusiastically as they sing. Jackson throws a shaka sign with his free hand, M4 propped between his legs. Boyd is passed out, or trying to be; hands tucked into the top of his flak, rifle propped against his main pack, Kevlar sinking down over his forehead to cover his eyes.

Derek is just wondering where he's at in this video when the camera flips around and Derek is surprised with the sight of his own face. He holds the camera out at a distance and waves at the screen. "_And I wanna feel something again. I just wanna feel something again. Won't you help me sober up? My favorite color is you._" His voice is clearer than Scott's had been, being closer, but he's still battling the engine, the music, and the wind. "We're on our way to the site. This is a really quick op – I'm not even really sure why we're only going out for five days. Anyways, I'll see you on Friday. I love you." He opens his mouth like he's going to say more when the seven ton lurches to a stop. "Gotta go. See you in a week." The camera jolts and the video ends.

Derek stares at the blurred image of his face and asks, "Who was I saying I loved?"

"That'd be me." Laura stalks into the room in her usual high heels, Lia on her hip and a duffel bag over her shoulder. "This place is a madhouse."

There are several greetings of Hey, Laura and then Scott is shooting to his feet. "Stiles!"

The guy who'd sneaked Lia in earlier is following Laura into the room, carrying two fast food bags and precariously balancing a drink tray across his arms. Scott rushes over and takes the drinks from him before they go flying and sets them aside. Stiles drops the smaller of the two bags onto Derek's lap. "Here," he says. "I brought you something edible. Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger, extra barbecue sauce, with fried zucchini." He pulls out one of the cups, which has the bright red and yellow Carl's Jr. star on the side. "Fuze raspberry tea." He takes the paper plate off Derek's tray and dumps it unceremoniously in the garbage.

"Thanks," Derek says. His day is better already, now that Laura and her boyfriend have brought him food. Laura even remembered the extra barbecue sauce on his burger. He starts to unwrap the burger. "I appreciate it, seriously."

Stiles shrugs and Scott says, "Derek, this is-"

"We already met, Scotty," Stiles says and, cheeky as hell, he grins and taps three fingers against his forehead. "Everything good?"

Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "These chumps have been keeping me company all afternoon," he says. "McCall's barely left all afternoon. I'm starting to think he has a crush on me."

Scott pulls another puppy-like pouting face, then looks between them. He rocks a little on his heels. "So then if you met then you know he's-"

"Laura's nanny?" Stiles finish, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, we covered that when I snuck her whole ass child into the room expressly against his doctor's instructions earlier."

So, not Laura's boyfriend then. Derek finds himself being slightly pleased by this, despite the fact that he has way bigger problems than an attractive nanny, right now. Only, hang on. "If you're her nanny, why'd she have to get Lia from daycare earlier?" he asks.

"I'm a student," Stiles says. "There's one class for my Master's program that only has Wednesday morning slots, so Laura sends her to daycare once a week so I can take my class."

Laura and Stiles pull food out of the larger bag to sort it and Boyd and Erica and, surprisingly, Jackson, start to get up from the chairs. Laura plops into Jackson's chair with her burger, but Stiles waves his hand. "Nah, sit down. I'm not staying," he says. "I have a ton of homework." Everyone, even the new kid, makes sounds of protest and Stiles shakes his head. "Seriously, I've got like three papers do. You guys have some family time. Laura, I'll see you tomorrow at eight?" Laura nods. "It was good to see you, Derek," Stiles says. "Feel better. And remember." He taps his forehead again. "Any time, dude. Any time." He slips out the door and the conversation shifts back to gentle ribbing and asking Laura about work.

Scott sits back down by Derek. "So you already met Stiles, then. Did you...you know? Did he look familiar at all?"

Derek shakes his head, working his way neatly through the burger. "Should he? Is he around a lot?"

"Well, he's. You know. He's Laura's nanny and you guys are so close, I thought maybe. You met him like, really soon after what you remember, too." Scott shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. Well, it's an uncomfortable topic; Derek isn't surprised.

The question makes sense, then. Scott's right. He and Laura had always been close, exceptionally so, but ever since Mike was killed, they've kind of been joined at the hip. Cora came home between semesters to help, too, but mostly Derek was the only one around to help Laura through the rest of her pregnancy. It makes sense that she's gotten a nanny to help out. Being a working mom couldn't be easy even without being a widow, and from what she's currently saying to Erica, it sounds like she's on the fast track to making partner within the next year or two. Derek tunes in to her animated speech on her latest case, and when she's done, she turns to him and says, "So, any more news from the doctors?"

Derek wads up the paper from his burger and stuffs it into the container that had housed his fried zucchini, and shoves all of that back into the bag. "According to the scans, there isn't any abnormal swelling or fluid leakage. He said to expect some headaches and stuff. He wants me to come back in for a couple of follow-ups, and I'm going to be on light duty for a while when I get back to work, but other than that there's no reason I can't go home Friday, for now." Derek picks up the notepad he'd left on the side of the bed. His handwriting is a little messier than usual, but they already told him to expect some problems with his fine motor skills, for now. He hands the pad over to Laura. "I wrote it all down, in case I forget anything."

Laura reads over the note. "Confusion, nausea, and vertigo?" Laura shakes her head. "You live on third deck, Derek. Come stay with me for a while. Just until we know you're not going to face plant going up the stairs by yourself or something." Derek opens his mouth to argue and she holds up a hand. "No. Every single one of these guys would agree with me." And all of them nod, like the traitors they are. "Come on, Derek, it's not like I don't have the space. And Stiles will be home with Lia, a lot of the time, so you'll get to spend time getting to know her again."

Derek narrows his eyes at her. It's a dirty trick, playing the baby card. The real bastard is Erica, who's been holding her while the two of them eat. She carries Lia across the room and plops her in Derek's lap. "Here, sweetie, don't you want to see your uncle? I bet you miss him when he's at work, huh?"

Lia, for her part in this, immediately flops forward and cuddles into Derek's neck. He feels his resolve start to crumble. "I don't want you and Mary Poppins babying me," he says. "No mother-henning. I'll get my instructions from the doctor, and I'll follow them, but otherwise you let me be an adult and take care of myself."

Laura nods. Like a liar.

"Hey, window-lickers," Derek says, and his squad all snap their heads to look at him. "I don't want to hear shit about it when I get back to work. Because I will come back to work. No slacking on PT, and keep your fucking rooms clean. I will be checking them the first field day I'm back. Got it?" They nod like it's very serious, but Scott sells them all out by grinning hugely. "Fine," he says, looking back at Laura. "You've got yourself a deal."

I wasn't kidding about the Rip-Its.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a field story for you. I'm not claustrophobic, exactly, but I don't do well with prolonged physical contact, especially with strangers. My very first field op when I was but a young boot, my LT (Lieutenant) actually walked up to the seven ton as I was getting in and had someone scoot down so I could sit at the opening, which was only, you know. 70% humiliating, even if it was really helpful. Anyways, this led me to meeting our unit's own personal Garcia, for those of you who read TL. Seriously, dude even _looks_ just like Garcia. Anyways, he was the terminal lance of the unit (terminal lance meaning you never got promoted past the default Lance Corporal promotion, right up until you went on "terminal leave" and got out permanently) and it was my first ever encounter with him. Dude pops a cigarette in his mouth, pulls out a speaker, and starts blaring classic rock. It was bizarre to me when people started using the butt of their rifles to hit the ground for We Will Rock You. Now, of course, this stuff is the norm, but it was so jarring the first time I saw it because I was like "this is made up, this is fucking made up, they're screwing with us because we're new" but no, my unit is just Like That.


End file.
